Robert awoke with the faint light of dawn creeping through the small, cracked window of his room. The air was still, heavy with the smell of damp wood and stale ale from the previous night. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched, feeling the weight of uncertainty press down on his shoulders again. Today was the day. The stranger he met at the inn had offered him a job, and while Robert wasn’t sure if he should trust the man, he knew he had little choice.

He dressed quickly, fastening his leather vest and sliding his warhammer into its harness. The weapon had always given him a sense of purpose, and he hoped it would again today. The dockyards were his destination, a place bustling with life and opportunity—or so the stranger had promised. With his coin pouch dwindling, he needed the work, no matter how dangerous or uncertain it might be.

Stepping out into the cool morning air, Robert made his way toward the port, following the sounds of the waking city. King’s Landing was already stirring. The streets were filled with merchants setting up their stalls, beggars lining the corners, and guards lazily patrolling the lanes. The sky above was tinged with the pinks and golds of the rising sun, but there was no beauty to be found in the grime and muck of the capital.

As he approached the docks, the smell of salt and fish became overpowering, mixed with the scent of wet wood and tar. The port was already a hive of activity, even at this early hour. Ships, both large and small, swayed gently in the harbor, their sails catching the faintest of breezes. Sailors yelled to one another as they hauled crates and barrels aboard, and the creaking of ropes and the slapping of water against the docks provided a constant backdrop of noise.

Robert paused for a moment to take it all in. He had been to ports before—Storm’s End had its share of harbors—but nothing compared to the chaos of King’s Landing’s docks. It was a symphony of movement: horses pulling carts loaded with goods, dockworkers unloading ships, merchants haggling with captains over cargo, and the occasional screech of seagulls circling above, hoping for a scrap of food.

The ships themselves were as varied as the people. Some were sleek and built for speed, others were bulky and laden with cargo. Flags fluttered from the masts, bearing the sigils of distant lands—Volantis, Lys, Braavos, and more. The docks were a place where the world met Westeros, and for a moment, Robert felt a twinge of excitement. There was opportunity here, even if it was hidden beneath layers of dirt and desperation.

After a few minutes of wandering through the busy port, Robert spotted the man from the inn standing near the edge of the dock, his back turned to the sea. The man, dressed in the same worn clothes as the night before, seemed to be overseeing the loading of supplies onto a large, imposing ship. Its hull was dark and weathered, and its sails, furled for the moment, were a deep shade of red.

Robert approached cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of his warhammer. "Morning," he called out.

The man turned and grinned, showing the same crooked teeth from the night before. "Ah, the big man from the inn. Thought you might show up," he said. "I told ye, there's work here for a man who knows how to fight."

Robert nodded, glancing at the ship. "What's the job, exactly?"

The man smirked and gestured toward the ship. "This here is the Sea Raven. She's mine, and we sail under the command of Lord Corlys Velaryon himself."

The name Corlys Velaryon rang familiar in Robert’s mind. Known as the Sea Snake, Velaryon was one of the most renowned lords of the realm, his wealth and influence tied to the seas. His fleet was unmatched, and his ships sailed to the farthest corners of the world. If this man worked for Corlys Velaryon, the job might be more dangerous than Robert had originally anticipated.

"I'm Jason Tyde," the man continued, "captain of this fine vessel, and we're heading out to the Stepstones. You’ve heard of 'em, I assume?"

Robert nodded slowly. The Stepstones, a chain of islands in the Narrow Sea, had been a battleground for years. Pirates, rival factions, and even the powers of Essos all fought for control of the islands, using them as stepping stones for trade routes and strategic dominance. It was a dangerous place, and men who went there often didn’t come back.

"So, you're recruiting fighters?" Robert asked.

"Aye," Jason Tyde confirmed, his grin widening. "Lord Velaryon’s been securing more and more ships, and we need men who know how to handle a weapon. The fighting in the Stepstones never truly ends, and there's good gold to be made for a man with your talents. The Sea Snake pays well."

Robert considered the offer. It was dangerous work, no doubt about that. The Stepstones were infamous for their bloodshed, and there was no guarantee he’d return alive. But then again, what did he have left to lose? He was already a man without a home, without a title, without a future. And this could be his chance to carve out a new path.

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"What's the pay?" Robert asked, crossing his arms.

Jason Tyde chuckled. "Straight to the point, I like that. You'll get a share of whatever spoils we take, and a decent wage from Lord Velaryon himself. Enough to keep ye well-fed and your pockets heavy."

Robert looked out at the sea, the waves lapping gently against the dock. He had come to King’s Landing with no real plan, no idea of what he would do. The thought of leaving Westeros still unsettled him, but fighting in the Stepstones... that was something he knew how to do.

"I'll do it," Robert said, meeting Jason’s gaze.

"Good man!" Jason slapped him on the back, nearly knocking the breath out of him. "Welcome aboard the Sea Raven. We'll be setting sail in two days’ time, so get yourself ready."

Robert nodded, though his mind was already racing. Two days to prepare for a journey to one of the most dangerous places in the world. He had faced battles before, but this would be different. There would be no banners, no lords, no honor in the fighting to come—just survival.

As Robert made his way back through the bustling dock, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of relief. For the first time since he had left Storm’s End, he had a purpose again. It wasn’t the life he had imagined, but it was something.

The Stepstones awaited, and with them, whatever fate had in store for Robert Stronghammer.

The weight of Jason Tyde’s promise hung over Robert as he left the docks. Two days—two days to enjoy whatever remained of his freedom, two days before he set sail for the Stepstones and entered a world where strength and luck were the only gods. War had a way of stripping a man of everything, and Robert knew this all too well. He had seen battle, tasted victory and defeat, and learned that in the end, survival often came down to who the gods favored that day.

He had little coin left, just enough to scrape by for the next two days if he was careful. But being careful wasn’t in Robert’s nature, especially not when he had so little time. The idea of two days spent drinking and whoring before marching into a battlefield didn’t sit well with the lord he had once been, but Robert Stronghammer was not a lord anymore. He was a sellsword, a man with no title and no obligations—except to survive.

As he walked through the narrow streets of King’s Landing, he felt an odd sense of liberation. For the first time in his life, he was no one. A face in the crowd, unrecognized, unacknowledged. The people around him had no idea he had once been a nobleman. To them, he was just another sellsword, another drifter passing through the capital in search of work.

The streets of King’s Landing, however, were far from welcoming. The foul stench of sewage mingled with the scent of roasting meats from street vendors, and the cacophony of noise—merchants haggling, children laughing, and the constant chatter of the masses—filled the air. It was chaotic, dirty, and alive in a way Robert hadn’t experienced before. As a lord, he had always looked down at the city from a distance, seeing it as something beneath him. Now, he was part of it, and it felt strange, unsettling even.

He wandered aimlessly, exploring the city as a nobody for the first time. The towering structures of the Red Keep loomed in the distance, casting long shadows over the city. But Robert didn’t go near it. That was a place for lords, kings, and courtiers—people he had no business with anymore.

Instead, he found himself in Flea Bottom, the poorest part of the city. The alleys were narrow, the buildings haphazardly constructed, and the people looked as worn and battered as the streets they lived on. Flea Bottom was a place where people barely scraped by, living day to day, where crime and desperation thrived. Robert had heard of the place, but he had never thought he would find himself walking its filthy streets.

It didn’t take him long to find a brothel. In a city like King’s Landing, they were everywhere, tucked between taverns and shops, their brightly painted doors a beacon for men with coin to spare. The one Robert entered was small, with a sign barely visible in the dim light of the alley. He pushed open the creaking door and stepped inside.

The interior was dark and musty, lit only by flickering candles placed haphazardly along the walls. The air was thick with the smell of cheap perfume and sweat. Women in revealing dresses lounged about, eyeing him as he walked in. A few men sat at a table in the corner, drinking and laughing, oblivious to anything but their own pleasures.

A woman approached him, her painted face smiling. "Looking for a good time, love?" she asked in a husky voice, running a hand along his arm.

Robert looked down at her, his mind momentarily blank. He had come here for distraction, to forget for a while the looming shadow of war. But standing there, in that dingy brothel, surrounded by strangers, he realized that even this—whoring, drinking, losing himself—felt hollow.

"How much?" he asked, his voice gruff.

She grinned and named a price. He reached into his coin pouch and handed her what was left of his money. "A room," he said. "And a drink."

The woman nodded, motioning for him to follow. She led him up a narrow staircase to a small room at the back of the brothel. It was plain, with a single bed and a table with a half-empty bottle of cheap wine. She left him there, promising to return soon.

Robert sat on the edge of the bed and poured himself a cup of wine. It tasted bitter, but he drank it down in one gulp. He sat in silence for a while, staring at the worn floorboards, his thoughts drifting.

Two days. In two days, he would be boarding a ship to the Stepstones, where death waited around every corner. And here he was, wasting his last moments of freedom in a brothel. The thought made him laugh, a short, bitter laugh that echoed in the empty room. Was this what his life had become? A once-proud lord reduced to a nameless sellsword, drinking cheap wine in a filthy brothel?

The woman returned after some time, but Robert barely spoke to her. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation, or anything else for that matter. He paid her, finished his wine, and left the brothel without another word.

Back on the streets, the sky had darkened, and the city was alive with the noise of the night. The taverns were filled with laughter and song, the streets lined with vendors selling food and drink. Robert wandered aimlessly, lost in his thoughts.

He found himself at a tavern near the docks, a rough place filled with sailors and sellswords, the kind of place where a fight could break out at any moment. He ordered a drink and sat at the bar, listening to the conversations around him.

Men were talking about the Stepstones, about the fighting there, the pirates, and the gold to be made. It seemed like everyone in the city was talking about the war, about Lord Velaryon’s fleet and the battles to come. Robert listened, his mind racing. He was about to step into that world, to become part of the stories these men would tell in taverns like this one.

As the night wore on, Robert drank more than he should have, the alcohol dulling his senses and making the world blur around him. But even in his drunken haze, the weight of what was to come pressed down on him.

When he finally left the tavern and made his way back to the inn, the city was quiet, the streets empty except for the occasional beggar or guard. The night was cool, the air heavy with the promise of rain.

Robert lay in his bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. His mind raced with thoughts of the Stepstones, of the battles to come, of the men who would die beside him. He had always been a fighter, always known the thrill of battle, but this was different. This wasn’t a noble war, fought for honor or land. This was survival, pure and simple.

And as Robert drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t help but wonder if luck would be on his side when the time came.